


burning through our short lives

by emptysodapopcan



Category: Yogscast
Genre: M/M, Teencast, a bunch of soggy teens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:16:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptysodapopcan/pseuds/emptysodapopcan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's just like their let's plays expect they're all teenagers and live in midwest america and sips and sjin are head over fucking heels for each other so they run away from home together and they're not actually let's players at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. anyone here mentions hotel california dies before the first line clears his lips

**Author's Note:**

> " _we might die and be trapped in these bodies tonight_  
>  _burning through our short lives. "_
> 
>  
> 
> _-[your mother worries](http://mountainwasp.bandcamp.com/track/your-mother-worries), mountain wasp_

”Ah, ouch,” he hisses, and tries to pull away. You grip his hand tighter. He looks up at you, pleading. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, Sips. Maybe we should—”

“Don’t wuss out on me now,” you keep your gaze fixed on his hand, the blade you’re pressing into it, the blood welling around it. You can hear him sniffling, and that alone is almost enough to keep you from continuing. You don’t need to see his face. “It’s almost done.”

You draw the knife (one you stole from the kitchen; it is six inches and the most deadly thing you can imagine) the rest of the way across his palm and pull it away. There is more blood than you thought there would be, somehow. You hand the knife to Sjin.

“Your turn.”

Sjin wipes his face with his uninjured hand before taking the knife. He sniffles once, but his face is a stony portrait of determination. He gingerly takes your left hand, palm up (you can feel his blood smearing on the back of your hand, warm and sticky) and slices a gash across it in one swift movement. You hiss in a breath and try to blink back tears.

“Okay,” your voice is wavering and forced. You breathe for a moment before continuing, you try to ignore the stinging pain in your hand. “Okay. The contract.”

The “contract” is a sheet of notebook paper the two of you had planned out your life together on in colored pencil. Right now, it is utterly unremarkable. Soon, it will become sacred. Sjin pulls the sheet between you. There are two lines at the bottom, each with an “X” in front. You had seen contracts on T.V. before, you were fairly sure this is how they were supposed to look.

“Are we— are we supposed to say something?” Sjin asks cautiously. You shake your head.

“I don’t think so. I think we’re supposed to just…” You clench your hand into a fist above your respective line, and watch as a droplet of blood crashes onto it. Sjin copies your motions, and a twin droplet crashes beside yours.

You relax your hand, and so does Sjin. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. There is blood in more places than you had intended, and you hope Sjin’s parents don’t yell at him. You hope your parents don’t yell at you. Something is hanging in the air, an odd feeling of incompleteness. This inspires Sjin to do something weird.

He takes your wounded hand in his, mixing your blood. He lowers his face to your hands, and oh _god_ you hope he’s not going to start chanting incantations or _kiss_ them or anything because this is weird enough as it is and you’re sure he knows what he’s doing, you just wish he would _tell_ you—

“There,” he whispers. “There we go.”

—

“Sips.”

Seven years ago, you made a blood oath with your best friend in the treehouse his father had built for him. In it, the two of you promised a number of things, most of which are inconsequential now. There was something in there about not pussying out a mean spirited prank the two of you had planned for the next week.

“ _Sips_.”

Two hours ago, your aforementioned best friend had called you up, telling you to meet in the aforementioned treehouse his father had built. He sounded panicked, so you hurried, only to find the treehouse barren. Still, you waited for him, but the air was thick and warm and there was still a lumpy mattress and a pile of old blankets from the one hundred times the two of you slept (together) up here, so of _course_ you dozed off.

“Sips, wake _up!_ ”

A sharp yank of your hair is what eventually tears you into wakefulness. You blink blearily and wait for your eyes to focus. When they do, you squint at Sjin who, now apparently satisfied with you being among the waking, is busying himself with something else. As you sit up he is yanking at floor boards, trying to find the one that’ll give.

“Jesus, Sjin,” you groan. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Looking for something. Do you remember where we hid that box?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. He’s speaking of the black lockbox the two of you pooled your money to buy in seventh grade, filled with items of varying importance, and you already have a vague notion of what this is all about. Every time he suspects you won’t be too enthusiastic about an idea of his, he drags you up here and whips out the box and it’s contents to pressure you. It doesn’t always work. It usually does.

You rub the sleep out of your eyes with the heel of your hands. “For fuck’s sake. Can’t you just tell me what’s up without the prolonged theatrics?”

You know he has a thing for ceremonies, you’ve sat through your fair share of eulogies for broken televisions for his sake, and also because at some point you weren’t able to tell the difference between an elaborate joke and honest-to-god mourning.

He doesn’t seem dismayed by your lack of enthusiasm. “C’mon Sips, that’s half the fun. Besides,” he continues, “this is important.”

“Important, like ‘stop clogging the toilets with ketchup packets my mom’s getting pissed’ important, or—”

“Like, ‘how far would the gas in your tank right now take us’ important.”

You pause for a minute, only a bit shocked, before laughing. “Shit, Sjin. I don’t know, where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere,” he laughs back, but there’s almost something… wistful about it. “I mean, I’m kind of surprised we hadn’t done this sooner. It seems like it would be the natural course of things. Beat up a kid for his lunch money, use that money to buy toilet paper to TP the neighbor’s house… run away together.”

“ _You_ hadn’t done this sooner, you mean. I, on the other hand, have accumulated quite the track record.”

Sjin rises to his feet and joins you on the mattress. “Well, yeah. But I figured, you know, you might like some company. This time around.”

“Hm.” Sjin’s trying to make this seem like your idea. It makes sense, you have a history of skipping home for a day or two or more, to avoid responsibility, to avoid retribution, to avoid boredom. Though you hadn’t even considered it for a couple of years now, not since you technically started dating Sjin (you say technically, of course, because in all honesty, the two of you have been dating your entire lives). You were comfortable to stay put if he was, but now he isn’t, so neither are you.

“When do you want to leave?”

“I was thinking something along the lines of, uh, well, as soon as possible, really. I mean, I’ve packed. Kind of. Is this something that needs packing?”

You shrug. “To some extent, I guess. What’ve you got?”

Sjin gestures to a backpack lying in the corner of the room, bulging slightly. “Is that good?”

“Honestly, you probably won’t need more than a wallet and, if you’re concerned with hygiene, as I know you are, a sturdy toothbrush.”

Sjin chews thoughtfully on his lip. He looks mostly unconvinced, but he concedes. He rests his head on your shoulder and closes his eyes. He looks tired, he has for a while. You wonder, only privately, if that had anything to do with this sudden wanderlust. His voice now reflects his exhaustion, energy gone and voice lowered. “Alright. I brought you one, too. A toothbrush, I mean.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, the best he can in this position, and hums out a, “Yeah.” He pauses for a beat before clarifying, “For my sake, I mean. You’re not coming anywhere _near_ my mouth with rancid breath. It’s my one rule.”

“I don’t know, Sjin. It’s kind of a hefty request, I like to keep myself covered with a thin layer of filth on all surfaces at all time. You should know that.”

“I’m not joking around here, Sips!” He’s trying to sound indignant, but he’s laughing against you, still. “I will not fucking touch you if your breath stinks.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Fuck off, is this a challenge. You think this is a fucking game, huh, buster brown? I’ll show you a challenge, you fucking dingaling.” He shoves you over with a flurry of kisses. On your face, on your neck, landing on your lips only in passing. You don’t mind, not really.

Mostly you’re just glad he’s back, as much as he can be.

—

It is a quarter to midnight and you have been idling in your truck outside of Sjin’s house for at least ten minutes. At first you weren’t that concerned. You had learned from experience that Sjin’s parents could sleep through the reckoning, which is good, because the engine of your ten-year-old, piece-of-shit, more-duct-tape-than-car pickup truck is at least as loud. However, after ten anxious minutes of waiting for Sjin to show, you’re starting to think that the truck might be louder. You are considering taking the risk that Sjin’s parents are already awake and pounding the horn until your boyfriend gets his tight ass out here, when he emerges, wearing three layers of afghans, doing just that. He hustles over to you, throws his whole weight on the passenger door, before forcing it open and throwing himself in the seat.

He tears the afghans from him and tosses them in the back. “We might need them,” he says before you can even think about asking why. He pulls a map out of his back pocket and unfolds part of it on the dashboard. He points to a light blue splotch, a lake, probably, about thirty miles from here. “There. That’s where we should go.”

You shove the map out of the way. “Slow down there, buckaroo. Let’s just find a safe place to stay the night, first.”

“Ah, right. Of course.” He folds the map back up, slowly and carefully. He stare out the window as you pull away, and offers a little wave to his house and you leave. He fidgets, wearing away at the map with his fingers, a small excited smile playing at his lips.

“This is big,” he says. “This is important. This is going to change us, Sips. We’ll tell our grandkids about this.”

You hum idly in agreement. It takes a moment for exactly what he said to register.

“We’re having grandkids?”


	2. we will come rejoicing bringing the the sheaves one day, and we are on our way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they do it in this one

Sjin counts the money he grabbed “in the heat of the moment,” as he put it, in the bed of the truck while you wait patiently (not really that patiently at all) spread out across the driver’s and passenger’s seats, your newly bare feet sticking out of the driver’s window. A breeze passes and you wiggle your toes as Sjin curses, and then groans. You laugh privately at his struggles before calling back at him, asking him how it’s going. He swears loudly at you in return and your next laugh is far less private.

He opens the rear window and shoves his head through. “Yeah? You wanna give this a try?”

“Honestly? I’m enjoying myself just fine letting you do it.”

He pulls a face before yanking his head out and slamming the window so hard it bounces back open. Sjin’s next string of curses almost sounds pained.

You pulled into the parking lot of a park about ten miles from Sjin’s house at one in the morning, a half an hour after he had passed out beside you. You had burrowed yourself in the mass of afghans Sjin brought in hopes of getting a decent amount of sleep, though in hindsight you don’t know what you were expecting, because Sjin woke you up at the buttcrack of Satan anyway, telling you that he was hungry, and asking if you had brought anything to eat.

“Well, if you’d fucking believe it, you’re the one who brought the money,” you had grunted. “Why don’t you go poking around and see if there’s anywhere nearby.”

“Huh,” Sjin had fished out the wallet from his back pocket and started flipping through it, “that’s right. I wonder how much I brought.” He laughed lightly, “I hope I hadn’t just grabbed a handful of singles. Oh boy, I would really have egg on my face then, eh, Sips?”

You had then banished him from the car until he proved that he had brought more than ten dollars in singles, or so help you, you would drive off without him.

That was about ten minutes ago, and Sjin was having a bit more difficulty than either of you had originally precedented. To be fair, you were responsible for at least some of it. Notorious the two of you were for your extensive and elaborate dialogues, and he would get caught up in them and lose his count. He took the setbacks with good nature at first, but as soon as the elements started fucking with him, his patience began to wear thin.

The morning sun is shining through the window and you had dozed off, briefly, roused suddenly only by the sudden lack of an offensive amount of cursing. Worn strips of paper strike your feet before Sjin pushes them out of the window. He pokes his head in after, looking proud.

“One hundred and twenty-six dollars, Sips,” he tosses the stack of cash on your lap. “Let’s get something to eat before my stomach collapses in on itself.”

—

There is an unassuming roadside diner a few miles down the road. At least, that’s what Sjin’s tourist-friendly map had told you. You’ve never been; this wasn’t really an area that you were familiar with, running away for you meant camping out beneath the high school swimming pool, or in an old farmhouse. Sjin, naturally, had more grandiose ideas, likely fueled by a slew of iconic teen movies, the wet dreams of suburban high schoolers. However, if you’re being honest with yourself (you rarely are), you don’t have much grounds to bad-mouth stuff like that. You’re enjoying yourself too much.

Sjin’s map ends up being fairly reliable, at least this far. The diner is less of a diner and more of a glorified food shack next to a gas station. It is littered with neon signs which advertise it’s wares with hyperboles. Inside it’s not too much nicer and just as tacky, but upon entry you are blessed with a shock of air conditioning and you figure it must not be too bad. It looks like it was trying to do the whole Apple Bee’s, family diner thing, but there’s only a handful of memorabilia nailed to the walls and half of the knick-knacks look like they were slapped together in about five minutes with the intention of being hung up on a wall for the rest of their existence.

“That’s no way to live,” you say, briefly forgetting that Sjin can’t actually hear what you’re thinking at all times. He doesn’t even react, though, and you didn’t really expect him too. Over the years, your constant time together lead to the two of you having nearly identical train of thoughts, or at least assuming you did, so the instances where one of you starts verbalizing thoughts half way through are more common than either of you would like to admit.

Instead, Sjin tries to get the attention of a half-asleep waitress.

Seating the two of you is fairly easy, there’s plenty of options when there are only two other patron, though neither of them host the friendliest of atmospheres. But you are seated at a booth and handed two menus and Sjin seems happy enough with that.

“The sign out front said that the burgers here were famous,” you say while perusing the menu (they hadn’t even bothered to laminate it. Geeze, you expect at least some level of professionalism). “I wonder if Anthony Bourdain knows about this place.”

“Probably, I bet he’s been trying to get reservations for years.”

You nod. “Food Network just doesn’t have that kind of budget.”

“Yet we managed to get in. We must be hot shit, Sips.”

“The hottest, Sjin. The hottest shit imaginable.”

Sjin derails. “The breakfast special looks good.”

You try to locate it on your own menu. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. What’re you going to get, Sips?”

“Why, so you can steal half of it from me?” you accuse.

Sjin shrugs agreeably. “Yeah, probably.”

“Geeze, Sjin, I’m hurt. Wounded, even. I’m a growing boy, you know. How dare you take from me what little nutrition I already get? The nerve of some people.”

“ _You’re_ a growing boy? What about me, huh, Sips? What does that make me?”

You brush him away. “Please, you don’t need to grow any taller. I’ve got a few inches left in me, at least.”

“I don’t think so, Sips. I’m counting on you being a good five-foot-five your entire life.”

“You’re—”

“What can I get you gentlemen?”

You pause for a moment, a little bit shocked, forgetting for a second that, of fucking course, other people who you have to interact with exist outside of you and Sjin. Thankfully, he is more on the ball than you are.

He flashes a grin at the waitress, which she doesn’t return. Only slightly taken aback, he clears his throat and continues with a bit less enthusiasm. “Ah, yes, um. I’d like the, uh. The breakfast plate?”

“With sausage or bacon?”

“Oh, my,” he chews on his lip thoughtfully and turns his gaze towards you. “Hm. I think I’ll take the sausage.”

And he fucking _winks_ at you and you kick him hard in the leg. He yelps in shock and laughter and you can practically _hear_ the waitress roll her eyes before turning your attention to you.

“And what’ll it be for you?”

“Yes, would you be able to tell me which items on your menu could be accurately described as ‘badass’? You see, I have strict dietary restrictions, in that I can’t consume anything that makes me look like a total pussy. Do you have anything like that?”

She looks entirely unimpressed and you shuffle a bit, uncomfortably, beneath her gaze. “I’ll um. Have a cheeseburger and a coffee.”

“Oh, a coffee for me, too!” Sjin chirps.

The waitress grunts in a way that is disconcertingly noncommittal before leaving.

”’ _I’ll, um, have a cheeseburger and a coffee,_ ” Sjin mocks. “Yeah, Sips, you can only eat badass foods because you’re already too much of a weenie!”

You kick him in the leg again and he curses through his laughter. “Low blow, Sjin.”

He guffaws indignantly. “Yeah, low blow indeed. Says the guy who’s going to break my shin!”

“Sjin… with a broken shin. Is that irony?”

“Coinicindence, probably.”

“Pun, maybe.”

“Mm. Maybe.” Sjin practices terrible table manners and rests his head on the table. He looks up at you. “Sorry for making a tasteless dick joke.”

“No, you’re not.”

He grins sheepishly. “Yeah, you’re right. It really was perfect. I continue to live life with no regrets.” Your coffees arrive and Sjin immediately pulls the entire bowl of creams towards him, muttering “Yolo,” absently to himself.

You grab a packet of sweetener (only a little offended that they didn’t offer actual sugar) and dump it into your coffee as Sjin adds a third cream to his. “So, what are we going to do today, Sjin?”

“Same thing we do every day, Sips,” he mutters, sounding only half attentive as he adds his fifth and final cream. “Try to take over the world.”

You laugh, and take a swig of your coffee. Despite the sweetener you added, it still feels like a stiff blow to your chest. Maybe Sjin had the right idea. More likely, however, is the fact that he has the palette of a twelve-year-old. “Really, though.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sips. I’ve got everything under control.” He takes a sip of his own coffee, and his face twists into a portrait of disgust and shock. “Jesus.”

“Are you serious? That can’t even be coffee anymore.”

Sjin shakes his head, looking distressed and disappointed. “I don’t think it ever was,” he forces out.

You sip at your own. “It’ll put hair on your chest.”

“It’ll put me in the hospital is what it’ll do. Christ.”

“How the hell did I land such a big whiney babby as a boyfriend?”

“What the hell, Sips. I want a divorce.”

“You’re walking home, then,” you threaten, and it’s your turn to earn a kick to your shin.

Your plates arrive and Sjin eagerly drenches everything on his with the entire thing of syrup. You watch in awe as he slices off a quarter of a pancake and shove the entire thing in his mouth. He says something through the mass, and you can’t understand him at all, but it’s not annoyed enough to be him telling you to quit staring, so you figure he must be asking how your meal is.

You tear a bite out of your burger and the first word that comes to mind is asscheek. You force it down. “It’s shit,” you say.

Having worked through most of his mouthful, Sjin laughs. “It really is, isn’t it.”

“We’re too good for this, Sjin,” you shake your head. “Too good for this shit.”

“Hey, let’s skip out on the bill. Do you think we could get away with it?”

“Yeah,” you nod enthusiastically. The waitress is nowhere to be seen, probably out back having a smoke. “Yeah, absolutely.”

—

You could not, in fact, get away with it. You were caught before you were even halfway to the exit. Sjin tried to blubber his way through a string of haphazard lies before sheepishly outright paying the bill with a 25% tip and a slew of apologies. The following car drive was awkward, to say the least.

You had, at least, found your way to the lake Sjin had spoken of. It was nice, nicer than any other body of water you had been around. Surrounded by woods, it was isolated. The two of you had spent the better part of the day shamelessly dicking around in the lake and in the dirt, trapping minnows, crushing anthills, carving rude things into trees. It was a great day, a nice reminder that the two of you had never truly grown past twelve. However, the day still had passed you by and the world is now winding down, and so are you. Sjin sits beside you, quietly weaving leaves and flowers together to turn the two of you into kings. He is humming a tune you do not recognize as the sun sets. A part of you wishes you could part the trees so you could see the sunset reflect on the surface on the lake properly. A part of you is happy the way things are, regardless.

“Sips.”

You turn towards him. He looks so much younger, with dirt caked on his face and flowers in his hair. You probably do, too.

“Close your eyes,” he says, his voice soft and careful.

You close them. You feel his hands place the crown on your head, then you feel his hands on your waist, then you feel his breath on your face. You open your eyes. He face is close to yours now, so close it’s distorted. That’s alright; you know what you’re supposed to be looking at better than anything else in the world.

He kisses you. His warmth spreads around you as he moves in, and you feel alive, and happy. You love this boy more than anything. He presses into you harder as the two of you start working into a rhythm. You pull away briefly, partially for air, partially to get Sjin’s shirt off. He is careful not to knock off his flower crown in the process, and that makes you smile. You press a kiss to his now bare shoulder, flushed with sun. He takes your face in his hand and pulls it up so he can start kissing you desperately again. His entire body is moving steadily against you now. You lean into him and he moans into you. He repositions himself to get better leverage, and he is properly bucking against you at this point. He pulls out of the kiss and leans his head against your shoulder, panting hard and heavily flushed. You are briefly smug at your imagined control, but he clutches at your hips and moves harder faster and your hips buck up on their own accord and a moan betrays you, reminding you that you’re just as fucked as he is.

He cries out, coming against you first, and hard, back arching some. Still, he palms your cock through your jeans, working you through the rest of the way despite still shaking a bit from the leftovers of his orgasm. You bite into his shoulder when you come, and you hear him let out a small, breathy, proud laugh.

He lays you back slowly, and then lies next to you. There are rocks digging into you, but you barely register them because now he is whispering incantations into your ears, one hundred spells to keep you safe, and you are whispering them back.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they did it


	3. let this whole town hear your knuckles crack

You wake come morning with the disorienting confusion that comes with waking in an unfamiliar place. Your mind stumbles and scrambles over itself in an attempt to recall why you woke alone in the bed of your truck in the middle of a forest with dew on your face and bugs traversing the landscape of your arm. You had…

You remember falling asleep on the beach last night. You remember Sjin rousing you at like two in the fucking morning, like what the hell was he playing at? urging you to move somewhere else, because he didn’t want to fuck up his back, but like hell he’d be waking up alone. You remember that, after some reluctance (motivated mostly by laziness), you obliged, and helped Sjin find where you parked your truck. You remember Sjin talking you into sleeping on the bed of the truck because there would be more room. You remember falling asleep next to Sjin, though you’ve got no idea where he’s gone off to now.

Not wanting to face the world outside of the blanket you’re wrapped in, because it’s going to be colder, and soggier, you hesitate for a minute or two before letting your curiosity win you over. You strip off the blanket and slide out of the truck bed. Rocks under your bare feet bite and prod rudely at you as you make your way to the front of the truck. You’re not sure what you’re looking for as you round it, and you feel like you’re still acting on sleepy impulse as you pull open the passenger door and slip inside. You glance up at the, uh, the flappy bit that you pull down to get the sun out of your eyes? Christ, you figure it must have a name. You shake fog from your head. Anyway.

Anyway, you glance up at… that bit to see a corner of paper sticking out of it. You lift the… flap? and a piece of paper, folded neatly, falls into your lap. You stare at it for a second before setting to unfolding it. What lays inside is a few lines of familiar chicken scratch.

_“Sips!!!_

Sorry to just up and leave you for a bit, haha, except I’m not at all because I’m getting us food you useless freeloader!!! >:(

Haha just kidding though I am actually getting food and since I had to walk into town I’ll be back in probably over an hour so don’t hold your breath buster :P

LOVE YOU!! ♡ ♡ ♡  
sjin”

He clearly failed to take into account the lapse of time between him writing the note and you actually seeing it, so you have no idea when “probably over an hour” is up, and therefore have no idea at what point it would be appropriate to get worried. You glance at the clock, and figure you’ll give him an hour before driving into town to find his ass. He’ll be fine, and besides, he’s getting food, so you suppose you can’t get too angry at him.

A mosquito lands on your arm. You heard once that if you pinch the skin under where a mosquito lands, it’ll get stuck and burst. You put it into practice, and an excited grin spreads across your face as the bug fills up with your blood, with no signs of stopping. Your grin falls and a pit of disappointment drops in your stomach when it fucking up and flies away anyway. It buzzes briefly in front of your face, its high-pitched whine sounding like a taunt, and you crush it between your hands. You wipe the blood off on your jeans and wonder how long you’ll have to wait until Sjin comes back.

—

It takes Sjin twenty more minutes before you see him sprinting down the dirt road with two styrofoam containers filled with Chinese food cradled in his arms. He had walked his way into town, three miles away, but managed to get a ride back. This news caused some worry to surface in you, but he had promised the news of your disappearances hadn’t traveled this far yet. He also procured two cans of off-brand beer which he refused to tell you the circumstances of him coming into possession of them, but he wore a sly smile and you know him well enough to guess.

Christ almighty, it’s probably noon already and you are already full of noodles and with an illegal buzz slightly distorting your judgement. You shove away the greasy styrofoam container, fork sticking out of the top like a flagpole, and lie down on the bed of your truck as slowly as possible, as to not rip any seams in your already exploding stomach. Two empty cans lie slightly crushed on the dirt road a yard away.

“I can’t believe you led me to believe this was a good idea,” you groan once you’re parallel with the ground.

Sjin is absently licking orange chicken off his fingers and hums thoughtfully. “Oh, don’t worry Sips. You’ll be hungry again in half an hour,” he glances over at you. “That’s the rule, right? With Chinese food?”

You shrug half-heartedly. “Something like that.”

“Hm. Why do you think that is?”

“Well, Sjin, it’s all very simple. You see, it’s because Chinese food, well, it’s shit. It’s a big load of fucking shit.”

Sjin laughs. “Gross. I can’t believe you ate all that shit, Sips. That’s disgusting.”

You sigh, but you can’t help but laugh as well. “Well, I’m a gross guy. If you can’t accept that about me, Sjin, then I suggest—” you suppress a burp. “I suggest you leave.”

“Ah, you know I would never leave.”

“Aw, Sjin—”

He moves to lie next to you and nods matter-of-factly. “Yeah, you’re my only ride.”

“For fuck’s sake, c’mere you bastard.” Made lethargic by salt and grease and noodles, you don’t have much energy to do anything other than roll on top of him and crush his spindly frame with your mass as retribution, but halfway there your stomach lurches in it’s way of telling you, “No, I don’t think so.” and you roll back to where you started.

“Nevermind,” you grunt.

Sjin laughs. “Slow down there, pal. You don’t want to tear anything.”

“Piss off,” you yell at the sky, elongating consonants further than would be appropriate for simply emphasis. Sjin laughs at you again, and rolls on his side to face you. He is still giggling pretty steadily, so you turn to look at him. He is propping his head up and wearing a smug grin.

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks.

“What kind of beard are you trying to grow?” you ask back.

He rolls onto his back. “Oh, something old fashioned, probably.”

“How old fashioned?”

“Shit, turn of the century?”

“Are you gonna wax it?”

He makes a noise. “Of course. Honestly, Sips, don’t you know anything about old-timey land? There is not a mustache in existence that goes unwaxed.”

You derail before he can. “Hey, Sjin?”

“Hm?”

“You know that thing where you pinch the skin around where a mosquito lands and it’s supposed to get stuck and pop like a fucking six-legged zit?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, and I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it’s a load of bullshit. Some rude farm animals took a massive shit on everyone’s doorstep and lit it on fire.”

Sjin shakes his head and laughs. “That’s because you’re not doing it right, Sips. You stretch the skin, you dumb-dumb,” he brings his arm close so you can see it and demonstrates by taking his thumb and forefinger and pulling a patch of skin taut. “See?”

“Huh.”

Sjin nods and lies back. “Yep.”

Silence falls between the two of you and you start thinking about… stuff. You hesitate a minute, two minutes, five minutes, before voicing your thoughts.

“So,” you begin, continuing to stare at the tops of trees above you. Sjin keeps his gaze locked upwards as well. “When are we heading back?”

The silence that falls after your words fade out of existence immediately freezes and feels wrong.

Sjin pulls a face. “What?”

You laugh, mostly in shock. “Well, god, Sjin, there’s definitely people looking for us, and we’ll be better off if we make it home before the police—”

“Don’t say that,” and he is deadly serious, and scared. The mood drop is sickening and more than anything you just really wish you hadn’t said anything at all. “Don’t say that, nobody’s gonna… we don’t have to go back.”

“Except, you know, yeah we do. Your parents—”

“Shut the fuck up, Sips.” Any and all levity in his voice, in the atmosphere, is gone, and that shocks you so much that it freezes you completely. All you can do is watch as Sjin opens the rear window and slinks through. He slams the window tight, but it’s the sound of him locking it that makes you wince. Your mind races, trying desperately to figure out what the fuck just happened.

You hesitate a moment before moving over to the window and tapping on it. “Sjin, come on man, what the hell?”

“I don’t want to _talk_ to you right now,” he shouts back, his voice thick and cracking and oh Christ you hope he’s not crying.

You retreat, and sit with your knees pulled up to your chest. You wait, but honestly, you’re not entirely sure for what. It’s not like he can keep you out of the car, you have the keys, except… You feel uninvited. Unwanted? No, fuck that. You feel _guilty_ , and you wish there was something you could do about it, because the feeling sits at the back of your throat and at the pit of your stomach and you’re sure if something doesn’t change soon, it will devour you whole.

The familiar whine of a mosquito circles you briefly and you grimace as the fucker lands on your hand. You don’t even think about swatting it away, instead you watch it for a moment before acting impulsively and putting Sjin’s idea into action. You take your thumb and forefinger, like he did, and pull a couple square centimeters around where it had landed tight, and you wait.

And you think. Despite yourself, you wonder if it knows it’s stuck. You wonder if it’s scared, you wonder if it can even _feel_ fear. As it bloats and fills with your blood, you wonder what it must be like to be trapped in such an unfortunate position that you ultimately lead to your own demise, trapped and helpless under the thumb of something out of your control. You wonder if you don’t already know. Fuck.

Now you feel sad _and_ guilty because of some fucking bug. A bug that was taking from you, you remind yourself. You release it and kill it with your palm, and you make sure it’s death is swift. You are left with your blood, and probably the blood of others on your palm and a bite on the back of your hand and you don’t feel much better.

You run a hand through your hair and you try not to think about your mom chiding you for not taking a shower, and instead look up at the leaves and sky above you. It looks like today’s gonna be pretty overcast and goddamn if that’s not a fucking metaphor for something.

“Sips.”

You nearly jump, you hadn’t even heard him open the window. You turn to look at him and he has most of his face buried in the crook of his arms, and even the part he left exposed, his eyes, are fixed down. He sighs and you wait.

“I’m sorry,” he says carefully, and there’s another long pause. “I… Okay, I _know_ we can’t stay out here for…” he waves his hand in an unclear gesture. “You know. Forever. I know something’s going to… happen and we’re going to have to go back. I don’t _care_ , okay? Don’t tell me about what’s actually going to happen because I don’t care. Just tell me everything’s going to work out fine and we don’t have to go back, not unless we want to. Please.”

He sounds desperate, and you are in no position to attack him for that. You scoot over to him and move your head in close to his. You both have really bad morning breath, on top of smelling like cheap noodles and cheaper beer, and it’s really gross, but he’s not moving away, and neither are you.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” you echo. “We don’t have to go back unless we want to.”

He smiles, and sniffles, and plants a kiss on your cheek before sliding back inside. “Get in here,” he says. “I’m lonely and it looks like it might rain.”

“I’m not going to be able to fit though the window, you know.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I know. Hold on.” you hear him shuffle around, and then you hear the passenger door click open. You move off the truck bed and over to the open door to meet Sjin. He has a blanket draped over him and that pushes his hair in his eyes. You lean down and he sits up so the two of you meet half way at eye level. He kisses you, properly this time. He pulls away and grabs you by your arm, leading you inside. “Come on,” he says. “I found a deck of cards earlier and I want to teach you a game.”

—

It starts pouring something ridiculous ten minutes after you were ushered inside. Sjin trying to teach you a card game quickly deteriorates into you seeing if you can land cards in his mouth whenever it opens. After twenty minutes the two of you use the humidity in the air to stick cards to your foreheads. His is a five of clubs, and you think yours might be a red face card. Sjin is far more dedicated to the game than you, and he looks a little insulted when you throw in the towel after six minutes and move in to make out with him again.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there, I didn’t get to guess mine!”

You peel the card off his forehead. “It was a five of clubs,” you remove your own card. Jack of diamonds. Huh.

He smacks your shoulder. “Sips!” he yelps, sounding honestly shocked and wounded. “That’s not the point! I wanted to guess. You were supposed to guess, too.”

“Aw, are you gonna cry about it?”

“I might!”

“I’m sorry,” you say, still half taunting, and give him a kiss on the cheek. “We can play again later.”

You don’t ever play again. Instead you fill the next couple of hours with attempts at building card houses (four attempts, none of them getting higher than three stories), seeing who can hold their hand out the window without it getting rained on the longest (Sjin), and comparing mosquito bite counts (you proudly won this one with 14, crushing Sjin’s measly ten into dust). And, of course, an obscene amount of hot make outs, but you figure that goes without saying.

Sjin is collapsed on top of you as the rain is petering out. “What time is it?” he asks.

“I can’t see the clock.”

He sighs, and groans before hoisting himself up to check the time. He peers between the seats. “Quarter-to-five, Christ,” he turns to look at you. “How about we get a move on?”

“Where to?”

He shrugs. “How are you on gas?”

“I don’t fucking know. I didn’t fill up before I picked you up, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then it’s decided. Tonight we pillage a gas station,” he clambers into the passenger seat.

“Now?”

“Of course! No time like the present.”

You grin and follow him to the front. You situate yourself in the seat, and start up the car. You glance at Sjin, and something suddenly dawns upon you.

“Sjin, where the fuck is your shirt?”

And he just laughs at you.

—

“How much jerky should we get?” Sjin asks, flipping through packages like records.

You shrug. “How much money do you have left?”

This causes him to burst out laughing. “So, uh, the— the plan here is to spend the last of out money completely on beef jerky?”

You roll your eyes. “Of _course_ , Sjin. Don’t even bother with that turkey jerky bullshit. Only one hundred percent American beef for us.”

“Of course,” he laughs. “Of course.” He fishes out two packages of jerky and slips them under his arm.

You’re flipping through a gossip magazine filled with people you’d never heard of before, but you’re not even looking at the pages. Instead, you’re watching Sjin flit though the gas station. You watch as he approaches a sunglasses rack and grab a pair of shutter-shades. He puts them on, glances in the small, grimy mirror that’s attached to the rack, and mutter “Swaggie,” absently to himself.

“Christ,” you say, and he shoots you a proud grin. He replaces the glasses and drifts over to you.

“People are staring at us,” he says. “I think it might be because we’re hot.”

“Yeah, or it could be because we’re a couple of sweaty, shirtless,” you nod at him, “teenagers covered in mud. But, you know, it’s probably because we’re hot.”

“We should, uh, we should wash up, probably,” he offers. “I saw a bathroom in the back.”

“Lead the way.”

—

You run a handful of paper towel under the faucet, and gesture towards Sjin for him to come closer. He leans down in a way you’re not sure is helpful or mocking, but you take his chin in your hand anyway and wipe away the dirt. He closes his eyes when you get to the bit higher up on his cheek, and you decide he looks very delicate like this. He could’ve definitely handled cleaning his own face, but he insisted on cleaning yours, and you agreed, only under the circumstances that you would also have the pleasure.

“So, I’ve been wondering,” you begin.

“Hm?”

“Why was it that you wanted to get away so quickly, anyway?”

He stiffens, and pulls away. He nabs the paper towel from your hand and faces the mirror before continuing the job himself. “No… no reason, really. I just wanted to get away.”

“Well, _yeah,_ but away from what?”

“It’s none of your business, from what,” he snaps, still not looking at you.

“I would agree if, you know, I wasn’t the one hauling around on this tantrum,” you reply, a bit meaner than you had intended.

“I’m not throwing a tantrum,” he states, harshly, “and I don’t have to explain myself to you, if there was anything to explain. Which there isn’t,” he throws the paper towel in the trash and goes to get some more, assumedly for the mud on his arm and leg.

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “Is it your parents? Or are you running away from some bounty on your head that I don’t know about?” You pause thoughtfully, “Or are they one in the same? Tell me, Sjin, did you kill your parents?”

“This isn’t a joke, Sips!”

“It’s not?” you laugh, mostly bitterly.

“You wouldn’t understand…” Sjin mumbles.

“ _I_ wouldn’t understand family problems? Is that honestly what you think?”

“It’s _different_ , okay? And anyway, you can hardly complain, you only have one parent to put up with.”

“Whoa, are you fucking serious? You think not having a dad is fun?”

“See? I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Sjin abandons trying to clean himself off and storms out of the bathroom.

You roll your eyes so hard you think you’re going to pass out before following Sjin. He is halfway out the door of the gas station by the time you exit the bathroom, and you sprint to catch up with him. You step over a half-eaten hotdog upon your exit of the gas station.

“Sjin!” You yell at him. “You massive fucking shitlord, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He throws his arms up. “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me? Since you _understand_ as much as you say you do.”

“You’re fucking right, I understand. I understand you’re making up problems for you to avoid so you have an excuse to make a scene. I understand how much you love being the goddamn center of attention that you’d go to these lengths to get that. I understand, because I fucking know you better than anyone, better than you’ll ever know yourself!”

“No you don’t!” He shouts.

There is some sort of deep anger on Sjin’s face, like nothing you’ve ever seen on him before. That anger causes him to do something that you would’ve never anticipated him to do in one hundred years. When his fist connects with your face you are so startled that you nearly don’t react. You stumble back a few steps, and Sjin looks just as bewildered as you feel, and it almost looks like he’s going to apologize, but you won’t let him. He wants to throw punches? You’ll fucking throw punches. You return his blow with one of your own, half-strength, across his jaw, you don’t want to break him. He’d been being kind of a dick today, he’s got it coming.

He gasps sharply, and hisses out a curse, but he holds his ground better than you thought he would. He furrows his brow and spits out blood, and later you’ll reflect on how, maybe, you hit him harder than you should have, but for now you hardly have the time to register him grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and fucking pounding you across the face. His fists don’t have the mass or the power behind them that yours do, but his knuckles are razors that tear up your cheek. He tries to throw another punch, but you stop him and instead send him cascading onto the ground. You hear the air leave his lungs as he crashes onto the asphalt. You climb on top of him, pinning his shoulder down with one hand and giving him a black eye with the other.

Despite him still gasping for air, he manages to pull leg up and knee you in the gut. You lose your upper hand with an undignified _guh_. Sjin throws himself on top of you and spits blood in your face. He _snarls_ at you and you realize suddenly, despite the situation at hand, that this is the angriest you’ve ever seen him, and like this he is like a flame, or a knife, sharp and flitting and dangerous. And out of control. You notice that he’s stopped throwing punches (though he’s still gouging skin from your shoulder with his nails, but you’re not sure if that’s on purpose or not), he’s just staring at you, wild-eyed and shaking.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?!” He screams down at you.

The words echo around the gas station, and you’re not sure if you can answer them. Fortunately, arms grab at Sjin’s shoulders, tearing him off of you and causing him to yelp and thrash. Unfortunately, the red and blue lights flashing around you tell you that those arms belong to a dutiful enforcer of the law. You try to scramble to your feet, in some desperate last-ditch attempt to get away, but as soon as you’re upright, hands stronger than you yank your arms across your back.

Your face is crushed against the white paint of the police car, and you mark it with your blood. You had a good run, anyway.

—

Your head is burning, has been burning ever since you were brought into the police station, and you try to cool it on the concrete wall. You’d been shoved into this five-by-eight cell an hour ago after you refused to answer any questions. They didn’t need the answers, not really, they weren’t going to host an investigation, not for two punks running away and beating the shit out of each other. It’d just make their paperwork easier, and heaven knows you don’t want that.

The cell was equipped with a bench, which you were currently seated upon, and some basic plumbing. Completely standard. You close your eyes and try not to think.

You try not to think about how your mom is going to look at you when she picks you up. You try not to think about the possibility that she might not pick you up. You try not to think about what Sjin’s parents are going do. You try not to think about never being able to see him again. You try not to think about him not wanting to see you again.

You try not to think about the tears starting to burn in your eyes.

You open your them as you hear Sjin being… escorted into the cell along with you. He stumbles in, looking dazed and lost. The black eye you gave him is shining pretty nicely, and on anyone else it would give you a swell of pride. On him it makes you want to throw up. You try to make yourself believe you’re only upset because you fucked up his pretty face.

He must feel you looking at you, because he glance your way, and for a brief second you make eye contact. You break it as soon as you can. Silence hangs between you and it pounds your brain as a headache more than any noise would. You close your eyes again, trying to will the pain away.

His shoulder bumps agains yours and you open them again, and look at him, but he is looking at your hands. You move your gaze down to watch him wrap his pinky around yours, his sharp, slender digit juxtaposed almost hilariously against your blunt, stubby one. But both of your knuckles are raw and bleeding a little and you supposed you’d always had something in common. You smile at him, even though it hurts, and he smiles back, wincing alongside you.

Everything is going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for readin. stay soggy

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Collapsing Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/687851) by [StardustDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StardustDragon/pseuds/StardustDragon)




End file.
